


Home

by kenporusty



Series: Personal Assistant [6]
Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dean's shirt just won't be the same, Dry-Humping, Fluff, Graham being cute, Hand Job, M/M, Who forgot I was writing these?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 21:07:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenporusty/pseuds/kenporusty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <span class="small">If you haven't read <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/742518">Personal Assistant</a> then I advise you to do that first, since this is a spin-off of that story.</span>
</p>
<p>Graham has a big question to ask of Dean, which ends in textbook hand jobs. You know, everything you'd expect from a story of the caliber.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

“Dean,” Graham’s voice scraped a little. He cleared his throat and waited for Dean to look at him.

They sat in a booth in a tiny café buried in the heart of Edinburgh. Non-descript, overpriced, but still with the best panini sandwiches in town, according to Dean. Local photography covered the walls, and Dean was looking, silently judging. His head snapped around and he smiled at Graham.

“I think I should see if they’ll display my photography, yeah?” Dean’s smiled softened a little.

Graham fussed with the heavier jacket he slung onto the chair. Fall made itself known in Edinburgh quite early. Graham was used to it, but that didn’t mean he had to accept it.

“That would be pretty cool,” Graham said, obviously distracted.

“What’s up? You’re being all nervous, it’s just me,” Dean reached out and threaded his fingers between Graham’s.

“Dean, having you in my life has made me just the happiest I have been in a long time. I have you, I have Liz back, and her girlfriends make things just so loud and wonderful in that house. But whenever you go back to your apartment, a little part of me breaks. I want you to stay with me, to move in.” Graham shifted his eyes from Dean to the table, “I feel like a stupid kid saying all this. Move in with me, Dean.”

“And here I was expecting you do drop on one knee,” Dean laughed softly, cupping Graham’s cheek and smiling at him. “Of course I’ll move in with you. I spend more time in that house than at my apartment lately.”

Graham pressed a kiss into Dean’s palm, but quickly pulled back as the server brought their food over.

“I think I should go back to New Zealand sometime soon to tie up some loose ends, stow or sell my stuff,” Dean said, looking at his prosciutto and goat cheese panini.

Graham deflated slightly at the quick acquiescence. Part of his mind, the hopeless romantic, hoped that Dean would make a big deal.

“Of course I’m coming with you,” Graham said rather matter-of-factly.

“Naturally! My mum has been pestering me about you, and you should see the countryside, so gorgeous.”

Graham loved the way Dean’s face softened as he spoke about his home country.

“And you’re willing to give all that up for here? For this?” Graham asked softly.

“Of course. I would give up anything to be with you, I love you, Graham, and I couldn’t see myself somewhere you aren’t.” Dean said just as soft.

Graham’s heart may have melted.

“So, when should we arrange to move my paltry collection of belongings to our palatial suite?” Dean asked around a mouthful of panini.

“This weekend work for you?”

“Of course! I now have something more to look forward to, but should talk to my landlady, though. I get the feeling I’m going to pay to break my lease early.”

“I’ll cover you, don’t worry love,” Graham waved the statement off. “It’s decided then. This weekend, my house will become our house. McTavish and O’Gorman residence.”

Graham launched into a fit of giggles. Dean gave him a withering look.

“Are you five?”

“Sometimes I wonder,” Graham breathed, regaining control.

They lapsed into pleasant silence then easy conversation.

*****

During the week, Dean carefully packed the few belongings he fit into the tiny apartment into boxes and suitcases. He frowned at the fact that almost all his material possessions fit into a corner of his apartment.

“Dean, is this all?” Graham asked, letting himself in.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, “except for some things in the kitchen and a last bit of clothes from the past few days, yeah. Are we taking the furniture?”

“What furniture? You have a table and a sofa bed.”

“There’s the bookshelf, too,” Dean sounded slightly indignant.

“Well, I do have the spare room in the basement. We could stash this ‘furniture’ down there and make that our dungeon,” Graham growled.

“Don’t tease,” Dean gave Graham a sassy look.

“Who says I’m teasing?” Graham folded himself around Dean’s small frame, rutting his hips against Dean’s ass. His hands came up under Dean’s plain tee, fingertips running along the already familiar planes of Dean’s chest, roaming and searching for new territory.

Dean tipped his head back to rest of Graham’s shoulder, a pleased sigh escaping his lips. The sigh shifted to a whining groan as Graham found a nipple, rolling and pinching it with calloused fingertips, knowing what it did to Dean, the knowledge born of knowing his lover so completely.

Dean’s cock hardened and he pressed his hips back against Graham’s, reveling in the hardened bulge there.

“Fuck, Graham,” Dean moaned, turning his head to place open-mouthed kisses to Graham’s neck.

“If you think we have time,” Graham’s arousal sharpened his accent, his words muddling together.

Dean’s hand came up to scratch at Graham’s scalp, “maybe not, we should really get everything packed and out of here.”

“Whatever you say,” Graham’s hand slid from Dean’s chest to his belt, quickly unbuckling it, and pulling at the button and zip of his jeans.

Graham pushed Dean’s jeans and shorts down off his hips, freeing his filling cock. A few strokes of Graham’s hand and Dean was hard and panting, placing open-mouthed, needy kisses to the hollow beneath Graham’s ear.

Graham pulled back, and Dean whined at the loss, pushing back, searching for his love. He heard Graham’s belt jingle as it was undone. Graham pressed against Dean’s back, pressing his flushed erection against the cleft of Dean’s ass. Graham wrapped his hand around Dean’s erection and stroked. Dean leaned forward, bracing himself on the wall, hips moving with Graham’s measured strokes.

Graham matched his hand with his hips, fucking himself against Dean, head dropping forward. He sucked and bit at Dean’s shoulder, his free hand spread on Dean’s chest, keeping the smaller man pressed close. Dean’s arms shake with the effort of supporting himself, leaning his weight on the supporting hand of Graham. Every stroke sends a jolt of pleasure through Dean’s system, and he knows he’s getting close.

“Fuck, Graham,” Dean keened.

“Yeah?”

Dean’s head dropped forward as he felt his orgasm coil tight in his abdomen.

“Yeah?” Graham was breathy against his neck, his leaking cock leaving smears of pre-come across the small of his back. His hips faltered, lost rhythm, regained rhythm, and he sighed heavily across the nape of Dean’s neck, peppering the skin with small kisses.

Dean’s fingers curled against the paint, pulling small flecks off as his back arched and stomach hollowed. Desperately he thrust into Graham’s hand for the last bit of friction he needed to send him over the edge. He came hard, covering Graham’s hand in sticky semen. His hips worked weakly through the aftershocks and some come dripped onto the carpet.

Dean sent Graham over the edge; he came in thick stripes on the small of Dean’s back and across the back of his shirt. Dean collapsed, leaning on his forearms, the breathy giggles of post-orgasm bliss shaking his frame.

“I don’t think I’ll get my security deposit back for that stain.”

Graham hugged him from behind and pulled away frowning at the state of Dean’s shirt.

“I think you’ll need to wash that.”

Dean stepped out of his jeans and kicked them away, then carefully peeled the shirt over his head, deftly avoiding the mess in his hair. He used the shirt as a rag to clean himself off before he handed the shirt to Graham to wipe his hand on before tossing it with the pants.

“I think one last shower here before we finish getting things in the truck, yeah?” Dean sauntered towards the too small shower.

Graham eagerly followed.

*****

When Graham pulled the truck in, he groaned. Stretching across the front windows, in paint and glitter too bright to be normal, hung a banner.

On that banner, in large bold letters was painted:

_“Welcome to the O’Tavish residence.”_

“Well, if they care enough to hang a sign, they can care enough to help bring things in.” Graham sighed, putting the truck in park, and leaning over to kiss Dean.

“Welcome home,” he said with a soft smile.

“It’s good to be home,” Dean said. He sounded content, if a little unsure.

**Author's Note:**

> Hmm, who forgot that I captained the SS O'Tavish?
> 
> There are a couple more stories in this series and then they are DONE for good.
> 
> Sarah, Chel, and Rach, this is for you <3


End file.
